Into the Storm

Chapter 10

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CHAPTER TEN

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Weeks floated seamlessly into each other for Luke, hours marked out by the pages of the endless books he read, days by the grinding repetitive monotony within them.

Every single day, around midday, the medic Hallin came to check him, only staying a short time but always friendly, strangely open and conversational given their association, quite willing to make inane small talk and seeming genuinely sociable in a professional, polite manner, though less eager to be drawn any further. Aside from Han's weekly visits, it was the only other non-confrontational conversation Luke had, and he couldn't help but try to get some sense of the bigger picture from the medic every single visit.

"And how is my charge today?" Hallin asked genially, lifting his handheld general scanner from his bag and stepping forwards.

"Pretty much the same as the last seven weeks," Luke said easily, taking the time to study the slight, diminutive man as he concentrated on the medical scanner held out before him.

"And how's life in the fast lane?" Hallin queried, eyes on the readout.

"Oh, you know, not a minute to myself," Luke said dryly then, searching to tap the medic for information without seeming too obvious, "How's life in the real world?"

"I wouldn't know," the medic said distantly, still studying the readout. "They don't really let us out much."

Luke raised his eyebrows. "Really? I can't imagine how that must feel."

"How's the reading going?" Hallin asked, glancing to the book left open, face-down on the parquetry-inlaid table beside them, neatly ignoring the underlying meaning of Luke's quip.

"Well, I finished the last book in the bookcase yesterday and when I got up this morning, there was a whole new set there. It's like a kind of magic."

"Perhaps the 'book fairy' came," Hallin said lightly.

"It could've left me a couple of credits," Luke replied in kind. "Or maybe just a note saying 'well done'."

The medic glanced up in mock-seriousness, the slightest of laconic smiles on his face. "Well done."

"Thank you," Luke said somberly. "Unfortunately the new books are, if possible, even less interesting than the old set. See, I'm relying on you to tell me anything at all that's even vaguely entertaining, happening beyond these doors."

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Smiling at the subtle dig for information, Nathan Hallin turned back to his scanner, running it over the join between the artificial flesh of the prosthesis and his patient's real skin, a genuine smile coming to his lips. "Oh, you know I'm not supposed to talk about that. It really wouldn't help you, apparently."

"If it wouldn't help me, where's the harm in telling me?"

Hallin glanced up, voice firm but open. "We are trying to help you Luke--you understand that?"

Still, his patient was unable to keep an edge of challenge from his voice in answer. "I understand that you're keeping me locked in these three rooms all day every day."

"Well if it makes you feel any better, they're very large rooms," the medic said lightly, hoping to dispel the dark tone in Skywalker's voice, as he glanced about the incredibly grand proportions of the cavernous chamber.

This room alone was close to the size of Nathan's whole apartment--if one included the extensive, capacious refresher suite with its neat dressing room, then it was probably well over, and his newly provided apartment in the North Tower was hardly undersized. Sudden inclusion into this most exclusive world of grandeur and excess left even Nathan, who had enjoyed an affluent upbringing on the Capital Planet, slightly overawed and intimidated.

Still, as Vader's son, his new charge must surely be used to life on this grand scale. Familiar on some basic, subconscious level with the Palace and its lavish, luxuriant standards even if he didn't remember the specifics, so his ready dismissal of the sumptuous, opulent room was no real shock to Nathan.

"Not surprisingly it doesn't make me feel better, no."

"And it doesn't seem familiar?" Hallin ventured.

"Being locked up? Pretty damn familiar now."

"No, I mean the room," Nathan corrected. "Though Commander Reece thinks you may well not remember--your previous apartments were in the NorthTower; he said you've been here less than a year--or you had been before you went away."

Luke stared at the medic, lost. "See, now I'm confused."

"Yes, so am I in this place," he said glibly without looking up. "But if it makes you feel any better it seems to be the natural state of affairs. Anybody who claims to know anything around here is either lying or spying, and either way it's best to avoid them, in my experience... but then I'm sure you already know that."

Skywalker's frown gave the distinct impression that, for him, the conversation had abruptly gone off the map. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would I know that?"

Nathan glanced up. ""Well, I'm not the one who lives here. Well, obviously I do now too, but it's a relatively new..."

"Wait, I don't live here--why do you think I live here?"

"Well... these are your apartments; that's generally..."

Skywalker shook his head emphatically. "No they're not--I've never been here in my life before. Who told you they were?"

"Your Aide," Nathan held defensively. "And I thought he should know."

"My what?!"

"Your Aide--or adjutant or whatever he is--Lieutenant Commander Reece. The man in the main office to the front of your apartments?" Nathan prompted...surely Luke already knew this.

"This isn't my apartment and he isn't my Aide and I have no idea what you're talking about."

Nathan searched the man's pale blue eyes for a lie, but could see only bemused confusion--but then Commander Reece had explained very early on that Lord Vader's son, an Imperial agent, had been sold out and taken prisoner whilst undercover among a group of rebels. He'd disappeared for almost a year before a lead was found, at which point Vader had pursued it, but on tracking his son down, it had become obvious that he had been brainwashed by the rebels and indoctrinated, probably over a period of many months.

It was, Nathan had been reassured, being dealt with in the form of exit counseling, a type of controlled deprogramming; no input from the medic was required on this point--none at all, the Aide had emphasized. Indeed, his interference may well be harmful.

After explaining the facts, Commander Reece had also taken the time and trouble to underline very pointedly how classified this obviously sensitive information was, restricted only to the very highest echelons of rank within the Palace, and then only to those who had direct contact. The Emperor himself had made the decision that the medic should be in possession of all the facts, Reece explained.

The Commander hadn't said it of course, but Nathan hadn't gotten this far in the Imperial military without the ability to read between the lines; it had been the Emperor who had commissioned him as Skywalker's personal medic and the Emperor who had deemed him worthy to be trusted with this information--and it would therefore be the Emperor to whom he answered for any transgressions--a sobering thought.

What he should do right now then, was just swallow his questions as he had every other day, nod vaguely in agreement, then politely excuse himself and walk away. Return to his ridiculously lush apartment in the Habitation Tower of the Imperial Palace on Imperial Center, settle down, pour himself a drink and congratulate his outrageous good fortune in being here...

And yet... he couldn't help but be pulled in by the young man who stared at him so expectantly now, looking for some kind of response... just waiting, as if he knew that given all the facts, the medic would do the right thing. Assumed that just because he had the nerve to contradict the Emperor and stare down Darth Vader, of course everyone else would do it too.

Nathan stared into those searching eyes... Don't do it--don't get pulled in--turn around and walk away. They're dealing with this, they told you so. It's nothing to do with you.

But if they were dealing with it, they didn't appear to be getting very far--and who exactly were 'they' anyway? In all the times Nathan had visited these apartments, aside from Commander Jade he'd seen no one else actually in here--ever.

He glanced down, lowering his voice. "What were you doing this time last year--can you remember?"

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"Not exactly." Luke frowned, muting his own voice in response, thrown by the question and by Hallin's surreptitious air. "I guess I was... I was in the Seswenna Sector about now. Why?"

"With whom?"

"With Rogue Group--I'm a combat pilot." Luke shrugged away further explanation. Something told him he could trust the medic, and they already knew who and what he was, but all his rooms were bugged, so he wasn't about to share any further details.

"Under cover?"

Luke hesitated, unsure what Hallin was getting at. "You know, strangely we find if we admit that we're part of the Rebel Alliance, Imperials show up and start shooting at us. So yes, we were undercover."

"I mean, undercover as an Imperial spy in the Rebellion."

Luke balked. "What?!"

Hallin kept his voice very level, very composed. "Luke, a year ago your cover was blown and the Rebels took you prisoner. They indoctrinated you--re-educated you, they claimed. We believe they-"

"Wait...what?!" It was all Luke could find to say in the moment.

The medic frowned; "Has no one...explained this to you?"

"Is that what you think? Who told you this?" Luke didn't know in that moment whether to be outraged, insulted or just simply laugh. It didn't even occur to him to bother denying any of it, so absurd were the claims.

"It's immaterial. What's important is that we try to move forward from-"

"It's not immaterial to me," Luke held doggedly. "I want to know who's concocting this crock."

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Nathan sighed patiently. Skywalker certainly had the Rim System accent and slang off pat. "Why do you think your movements are being restricted?"

"Why do I think I'm being imprisoned here?" Luke corrected. "Because I'm part of the Rebel Alliance--because...I'm a Jedi."

"I see," Nathan said levelly, pausing just slightly before issuing his next question, aware that Skywalker was becoming more irate, though he felt under no threat. "May I ask, are you...aware of your lineage--of who your father is?"

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"I'm aware, yes," Luke was unable to bring himself to say it out loud. "I'm also aware that the door you just came through is about a foot thick and has a staged release lock, the walls have some kind of cabled reinforcement running through them, the transparisteel in the windows is military-grade and there are at least four security lenses in this room. Does that seem normal to you?"

"No, but as I said, your judgment is thought to be...compromised at the moment. My point is, given your lineage, how likely do you really think it to be that you were a member of the Rebel Alliance?"

"My lineage, as you put it, is the only reason that I'm not in the cells right now with Solo, or more to the point, that we're not both dead already."

As he spoke, the door locks began to cycle open and Luke leaned in to add urgently, "That's it; we crossed the line--got too close to the truth. They're gonna take you outside and they're gonna tell you to say nothing now, Hallin. They're gonna tell you I'm wrong and they're right because that's the story they want circulated. To just stick to the script and keep your mouth shut. Do you really believe them?"

He knew, could sense the tingle in the back of the medic's fast mind; his doubt.

Hallin glanced to the doors then back to Skywalker. Seeing the uncertainty play across the medic's face, Luke felt a sudden pang of guilt at telling him so much, knowing that it would endanger him. He should have kept quiet--what did he care what the medic thought of him anyway? If it didn't matter then he shouldn't have argued the point, and even if it did.... then he shouldn't have spoken out anyway; it changed nothing, other than to put the medic in danger, which Luke was doing simply by speaking the truth to him.

That was the trouble here; if he didn't play along with Palpatine's little games then people got hurt--not him, but those around him. Those who had nothing to do with this; they just got pulled in as collateral by the opportunistic Sith. Very much like the slight, dark-eyed man who stood before him, face tense with uncertainty, either Luke played the game on Palpatine's terms or he accepted the consequences--and if the upshot had been to his own cost, then Luke would have taken the hit, but it never was. It was always a third party--the same game Palpatine had been playing since the first day Luke had arrived here, and why not; it worked so well for him...it was about to do so again.

Both men paused to look as six Red Guard stepped into the room on either side of the door, weapons ready, and Luke leaned in, letting out a frustrated sigh. "Just... agree--agree with them if you want to see tomorrow. But believe me when I tell you that they're lying. And trust me when I tell you that if they think for one moment that you do believe me, you won't see tomorrow anyway."

A tall, wide-shouldered, pristinely uniformed man stepped in between the watchful guards without quite entering the room, making a polite, expectant gesture. "Thank you, medic; this way, please."

Hallin frowned, glancing to the man, then turning back to Luke, unsure as to what was really going on. "Who are you?"

"This way, please," the man repeated, his tone civil and courteous but hard as durasteel, hinting that he wasn't used to being kept waiting.

The medic nodded obediently but as he walked toward the tall, scarlet-robed guards, his slight frame dwarfed by their looming bulk, he spared a single glance back to Luke...

Luke turned away as the door ground closed and the staged locks engaged, reaching out to fling the book he'd been reading off the table and across the room in frustration.

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Early evening gloom was sending dusky shadows creeping slowly across the cavernous room as Luke sat quietly awaiting Jade's return, attention split between appearing casually bored for the benefit of the guard standing by the door, and concentrating on a carefully hidden sliver of Force connection.

He was dressed impeccably in a darkest blue shirt and trousers, the elegant, fitted cut and feel of the bespoke clothing now very familiar, the refined fabrics quite customary, so that they no longer wore him but he wore them, confident and comfortable enough in this that he left cuffs and neck casually unfastened.

He was in the drawing room, the doors to the dining hall locked whilst the servants set the table for a dinner which neither diner ever touched. Servants; no droids here, Luke had noted. His mind went briefly to Artoo and Threepio, wondering whether they were still on the Falcon. Wondering if he would ever see them again.

He rose and walked to the tall, thick windows, free of any refractions despite their substantial bulk, gazing out over a city so close and yet so very distant; so much so as to be unreal to him now, Tatooine the vague memory of a half-remembered dream.

Reflected in the flawless transparisteel panes was the ghostly image of the huge, soulless room in which he stood, its high, arched ceiling and massive scale normal to him now, though the cramped, comfortable, intimate scale of all previous quarters on so many different ships and worlds remained achingly missed.

He was generally allowed access to the three heavily-fortified rooms in what he knew, from vague suggestions and hints dropped in a casual, conspiratorial manner by the medic Hallin, were the private chambers of a much larger suite, complete with servant's and aide's quarters, audience chambers, exercise halls, lounges, libraries, meeting rooms, offices and countless other pointless rooms which contrived to complete the massive, sprawling residence.

Whether the medic had believed Luke following their short, stolen discussion several days ago or whether he was simply humoring him in his frustration at being confined, Luke didn't know. He wouldn't put it past them to have told him to do that to keep Luke quiet, but Hallin seemed genuine in his desire to make this a little easier for Luke, though there were clearly limits.

Knowing the Emperor now, Luke also wouldn't put it past the manipulative Sith to purposely place someone close whom Luke felt he may be able to trust, offering the illusion of some kind of connection when it was in truth nothing of the sort, because whilst Hallin seemed willing now to offer tidbits of the world outside Luke's opulent prison, he also clearly believed that this was where Luke should be and where he would be staying.

Jade too seemed to be upholding this charade of a carefully created identity with a past history and ongoing future here, though she obviously knew at least part of the truth. Still, she resolutely referred to this as 'your apartments,' bringing him books from his library and food from his kitchens, carried by members of his staff, who bowed politely and never asked questions, which was probably why they were here. If he were appointed as someone's personal aide here, the first question past Luke's lips would be, 'Why is there a staged-release lock on that door capable of holding back an army?'.

But nobody did. They just brought him impeccably laundered clothes and ornately presented meal trays, and smiled blankly when he asked their name, glancing nervously at Jade if she was in the room, which she generally was--or if not her, someone else. Strange, how quickly he'd become used to that--it made no difference anyway; he was obviously being watched at all times by a pretty extensive surveillance system. He'd had various little trials of this when Jade left the room for a moment, walking casually out of sight of the door and watching her eye line when she returned. She always knew precisely where he was, turning immediately to him. So far he'd found just one blind-spot. It worked for two days, but when he tried it again a week later, it was no longer blind.

He could, of course, easily disable the lenses by using the Force to pull wires or crush circuitry, but there seemed little point, as yet; they'd only be fixed within hours, and once he'd done it they would know he was capable. No, that was a one-time surprise to be kept in reserve for a more crucial moment.

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He and Jade had started to play Sabacc on and off for a few weeks now, both presumably playing for the same covert reason. Jade was good, but she clearly didn't get much practice, whereas up until recently, stuck on Hoth, Luke had played a couple of hours every other day. Not much else to do there.

At first he'd staggered the wins and losses with her, then as a test he'd tried hard to beat her three solid days running, which had resulted in her refusing to play for several days, so he'd sat playing single draw or reading for long stretches until she'd been unable to resist the pull, desperate to beat him again. And he'd let her--just to see what she'd do.

Of course it didn't always go to plan. The cards didn't take sides and she seemed reasonably capable of blocking him when he tried to read her, but he learned about her either way; learned how to burrow subtly past those blocks, with the cards confirming when he did.

And she learnt about him--because she was watching him too, he saw that. Always looking for any tells, any reliable signs to help read him, clearly figuring that they'd come in useful sooner or later. She was nothing if not thorough, his jailor.

Which was what he liked about her.

He followed her distant sense in the Force now as she made her way down through the levels of the West Tower. Nine levels--always the same. Here, in what was obviously a very well-known location, she was a creature of routine--her first real weakness. Aside from her incredibly abrasive manner of course, but that wasn't so much a weakness as a...phenomenon. Still, he found it easy to single her out in the jostling crowd of minds here, her vague attenuation with the Force discernable even at a distance, now that he was so familiar with her. And he was familiar with her, seven weeks into his enforced imprisonment.

Seven weeks in, five weeks to go. The agreement was for twelve weeks of compliance.

Three weeks in, he'd begun plotting Han's escape.

And Mara was his key, though she didn't know it. He spent long hours each day quietly tracing her steps and her characteristic presence up and down corridors and floors, whenever she left his prison. Her sense of concentration in certain areas, of command or scrutiny in others. Of deference when she was near the Emperor. Creating a mental map of the building about him--of exactly where he needed to go. Pulling that information together into a plan.

Then hiding it behind defensive shields of his own in preparation.

Because every evening, the Emperor came. Every evening the same discussions, the same denials, grinding him down, provoking and challenging and inciting, disputing every answer, testing every limit.

And every evening Luke felt his patience fray a little further, his frustration twist a little tighter. Felt his anger burn closer to boiling as he tried to remain detached in the face of spiraling provocations.

Tonight would be no different...

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Palpatine settled in the chair and studied his Jedi, who sat mildly opposite him, layer upon layer of defensive walls up in preparation for tonight's assault. He'd learned how to do this very quickly; how to lock Palpatine out of certain parts of his mind, how to hide in the shadows or the plain light of day...but then necessity was a great teacher.

And Palpatine didn't need any great knowledge to know what his Jedi would be plotting; it was inevitable that he would make an escape attempt. In fact, Palpatine would be disappointed if he didn't. But the boy was learning. He wouldn't simply make some blind, unprepared dash for freedom. He knew he would probably only get one shot at this, so he would likely be making careful plans. Especially since the life of his friend was at stake.

In his position, Palpatine would have made his bid already despite the agreement, and left the Corellian to rot, but he knew the boy wouldn't do that. He would slow himself down and risk predictability because he simply couldn't desert him. Because he still held true to the values which Palpatine hadn't quite managed to strip from him yet, though the strain was beginning to show as he struggled against ingrained restrictions which only hampered him here, and he knew it.

All this strength--all this intensity of spirit, all this resolve--wasted on some pious, stunted aspect of the Force which made one beg for all that one received and even then allowed only a fraction of what one was capable of controlling. How his Jedi would thank him, once he understood that.

As Mara left, the boy glanced again at the momentarily open door, at the perceived freedom beyond.

"You are mistaken if you believe it is me who holds you captive," Palpatine opened.

"Then unlock the door," Skywalker said simply, turning to the Sith.

Palpatine smiled at that. "Where would you go, Jedi?"

"Away from here."

"Running back to your precious Jedi Master?"

His chin lifted at that, but the boy said nothing. He seldom rose to the bait these days--he was learning when to argue and when to let the provocation go. Palpatine smiled; valuable lessons for his future position.

"He would not take you, Jedi. He would not take you back. You are tainted now--that thread is cut."

Still the boy said nothing, so Palpatine continued, delivering the blow he had waited weeks for the evidence to land--there were no lies here. "To your little Princess, perhaps? That tie is cut too, Jedi. She will not take you either."

The boy's eyes sharpened, the slightest of frowns lining his brow, though he held silent.

"I told you once she would plot your destruction--did you not believe me? She has run back to her Rebellion with tales of parentage and pedigree, my spies tell me. Did you truly think you could return to that life?"

"And how did she know?" he challenged, his voice tight.

The Emperor loosed a broad smile showing dark, spoiled teeth. "Don't judge me too harshly, Jedi. I am giving you a gift--I clarify for you just how limited the friendship of those around you really was. They held you back, held you down. Because they were afraid of you they forced you to act like them, to hide your power as if you were ashamed of it; to limit and confine it. But when they needed your abilities, they expected your complete co-operation, didn't they? They bound you and caged you with supposed responsibilities and projected expectations. They demanded blind loyalty, yet this is what they give you in return. This is what your friendship means to her--she has betrayed you, Jedi, not I. She alone knew the information--the choice of whether to protect or abandon you was hers alone. It's she who has ensured that no one will come for you, that no one will give you safe harbor now. She has left you to rot when you gave up your own freedom to buy hers."

The boy had turned away to stare into the fire as Palpatine spoke, the play of flickering shadows over his face highlighting his hardening features with the tightening of his jaw.

Palpatine waited a long time in silence, giving his Jedi time to digest this betrayal; branded a pariah among those it would have so willingly given its life to protect--how that must burn. Yet he held to his temper, silent and still, eyes not moving from the flames.

"There are no answers there, child," he said at last, though the boy remained unresponsive. "Did you truly think they would help you, the son of their enemy? They judge you by your father's actions. You are as guilty as he, in their eyes--just as you were in the eyes of the Jedi."

The boy's frown grew deeper, his expression dark and stormy...and in that face, Palpatine saw for the first time his father's hard edge; that cold, driving potential for devastating destruction. He licked thin lips in pleasure; finally, hours of carefully invested manipulation were beginning to bear fruit.

"They were not for you, Jedi. They only held you back."

"They taught me everything which you now seem to consider of value."

"I value the ability which runs with the blood through your veins. I value you for what you are. All they did was try to change you--your fundamental nature. Now it is left to me to unravel the ties they placed about you; to give you the clarity of vision to see the chains they shackled you with."

He shook his head slowly. "It's you who is deluded."

"And your father? Do you not wonder what he can see with such absolute lucidity, that you cannot? They did not trust him either, though he served them faithfully for many years. They do not trust any in your bloodline, child--you have a connection to the Force and a tenacity of will which makes them uncomfortable. They prefer compliant menials."

"I'm not like him, no matter what you think," the boy denied, anger beginning to clip his voice.

"I gave him the freedom and the power he deserved. They only held him back, stifled him."

"He was Sith," Luke hissed, goaded by the implied association.

Shaking his head, Palpatine pushed on whilst his Jedi still wallowed in Dark frustrations. "He was a prodigy, endowed with an aptitude and a connection which they could not understand, so they tried to limit and confine him as they now try to limit and confine you. Petty laws designed to control those too weak-minded to think for themselves. Rules to govern the majority; to stifle the exceptional and offer the succor of equality to the weak. They try to hold you back to their lowly level, but those laws are not for you. They tried to tie you and hobble you and keep you close, to put a leash about your neck...but they could not do it."

Skywalker shook his head, but Palpatine continued over his faltering objection, quiet and insistent and completely sure, voice hypnotic in its zeal. "You were too willful and wild, too powerful for them to command. How could they control that which they could not comprehend? And they could never understand you...You knew that much, though you didn't know why. Didn't know why you heard its howl, baying like a wolf in the night. It calls you back to the pack and you feel its primal pull in every fiber of your body. It is instinctive, ingrained into every cell of your being. That is why it answers your slightest call. That is why you are here. I told you, if you were simply another Jedi I would have killed you long ago, but Darkness recognizes its own. Iunderstand you as no one else could."

The boy closed his eyes against words which burned irredeemable doubts into his soul. But he didn't refute--for the first time, he didn't turn away.

"Look within and see the truth--feel it. You were born for the Dark Side, created of it. Destiny calls you on and you are ripping yourself apart trying to deny it. You cling so desperately to the light, but you are living a lie, and your denial destroys everything and everyone around you."

"Liar..." Luke whispered, more desolate hope than confident accusation.

"Then where are they now, my friend, all those who sought to use you? They are all gone. They have seen their chance slip away and they fall over themselves to desert and decry you when you have done nothing to them. If you do not hate them now for what they are, then you are willfully blind. If you do not want redress, then you are lying--to me and to yourself."

His Jedi looked away, torn by doubts and denials as Palpatine leaned forward.

"What do you desire--truly--in this moment?" he pushed.

The boy looked to him, eyes caught by the flickering firelight. They blazed with a flame all their own in that instant, wild and feral, plagued to distraction--and it fed Palpatine's soul with gratifying satisfaction.

"What do you feel, Jedi? What do you truly feel in your heart? Tell me that you forgive, that you absolve them. Tell me their betrayal doesn't burn. Tell me your lies...though we both know the truth."

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Luke remained still and withdrawn, trying not to listen, logic and emotion colliding under Palpatine's accusing tirade, fed by fear--real fear. Because what if he was right; even unintentionally, seeking only to goad Luke, what if he was right? Had they betrayed him? Had they used him? Had destiny placed him exactly where he should be?

In those first moments after he'd been rescued by Leia from CloudCity, he'd naïvely thought that it had been the lowest point in his life--that it just couldn't get any worse. And now...now, fate had stepped in to prove just how wrong he was. It had taken everything--friends, beliefs, identity, freedom--everything had been stripped away and he stood alone...truly alone.

But it had left him his father, just to clarify what he actually was. And it had left Palpatine--its voice. As cruel and as callous and as relentless as ever.

Luke looked into those rancorous yellow eyes and words failed him.

All that he could do in that moment was stand and walk shakily back to the room from which he'd come, knowing--feeling--the Sith's gratified, satisfied grin at his back.

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Mara started, glancing over to Skywalker as he stood quickly, the book he had stared at all morning without once turning a page forgotten as he twisted about to stare at the doors. A run of disparate emotions ran across his face quicksilver fast, beginning with apprehension and ending closer to resentment as his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched--in reaction to what, Mara didn't know...

The comlink at her belt sounded a tone, making her jump as she fumbled to retrieve it, Skywalker's gaze remaining fixed on the doors.

"Jade," she said.

"Lord Vader's on his way in." The muted response in her earpiece answered all her questions save one; why Skywalker reacted this way. Why he hated Vader so very much more than Palpatine.

"Acknowledged," she replied, eyes still on Skywalker, cutting off the comlink as the muffled clang of releasing bolts signaled Vader's arrival in the outer room.

Lord Vader was the only person besides her master who had free access to Skywalker, though Mara had strict instructions to inform Palpatine immediately, checking of course that all security images were being recorded, as they always were anyway, every hour, every day.

Seconds later the reinforced doors cycled open. Mara set towards them, the familiar sound of Vader's regulated breathing hissing as the heavy doors swung open.

"Lord Vader." She bowed her head just slightly, though her eyes never left his.

"Commander," he said simply without bothering to look to her, stepping aside expectantly to indicate that she should leave.

Mara set forward--

"No Red, stay," Luke said quickly to Mara, eyes remaining on Vader.

Mara paused, uncertain, causing Vader to turn his gaze on her. "She is leaving," he said pointedly in bass tones, making Mara start forward again.

"No. Stay." The clipped intensity of Skywalker's voice brought her to an uneasy stop, though when Mara turned to him his eyes remained on Vader. "There's nothing my father has to say that can't be said in front of you, I'm sure."

Father! Mara shocked rigid at his words, her astonishment too great to disguise, pulling Skywalker's eyes to her as he frowned.

Vader turned slowly, that blank, faceless mask daring her to make comment.

But he didn't deny it.

Mara looked back to Luke, suddenly understanding so much more--about this, about him, about everything that was going on here; the larger game her master was playing.

But as many questions as it answered, it opened up more--if he was Vader's son then where had he been? And what about his history, his links with the Alliance, with the Jedi? Was it real, any of it?

Of course it was; she'd seen hundreds of data chips containing information from a team dedicated specifically to tracking him--his past and present activities. He'd been top of the Empire's Most Wanted list for over a year, since the day they had his name. At the time of his capture at Bespin, Mara knew of seventeen independent operations to capture him which all financed by the Empire--aside from their own concerted military efforts, headed up by Vader...by his ...

She turned to him now, mind racing to piece everything together. Hundreds of data chips, endless man-hours being dedicated to finding the pilot who'd destroyed the Emperor's pet project... Then finally, they'd had a name--and everything had changed.

The Intelligence team who dealt with it was quadrupled in size overnight, then isolated in a separate, dedicated unit, no longer anything to do with any other Rebel or anti-insurgency units. Vader himself was assigned to head up the search...

They hadn't known--they hadn't known Luke existed!

She remembered again Palpatine's words when he had first visited his new Jedi--his fascination, his anticipation: "He looks not at all like his mother--only his father."

His mother...who was she? Where was she? He'd grown up alone on some backwater dustball of a planet right on the Rim--or had he at all? What was real and what carefully constructed hyperbole? Everything was under question again.

But one thing had become crystal clear; why Skywalker was here. Why Palpatine had wanted him so very much from the moment he had discovered his existence.

"Have I spoken out of turn?" Skywalker said coolly of the revelation, eyes on his father, pushing for a response.

"No," Vader replied simply.

The two remained still, each refusing to yield, the air fairly crackling between them. Finally, Mara found her voice. "I should leave."

"No--STAY," Skywalker repeated forcefully, the unexpected demand in his voice making Mara stumble to an uneasy stop.

"She is ordered to leave," Vader said, leaden tones inviting no argument, though it didn't appear to faze Skywalker in the least. But now...now, Mara understood why.

"By who?" Luke challenged.

"The Emperor," Vader said.

Luke looked quickly to Mara, expression shifting rapidly from authoritative demand to a flash of bitter regret, as if reminded of what she was. She looked away, avoiding his gaze, deeply uncomfortable.

"Of course," he said quietly, eyes still on her, though she didn't look up. "And you all do just as Palpatine orders."

"You think yourself beyond that?" Vader growled, bringing Luke's eyes back to him. "Then why are you here?"

Luke laughed humorlessly, turning away, genuinely dismissive.

"You should leave, Commander Jade," he said at last, voice dry and emotionless. "But then you would have done so anyway, I'm sure."

The rebuke stung, when it shouldn't have, Mara knew. She had no loyalty to him--she really shouldn't care what he thought of her. Didn't care, she corrected; didn't.

She walked quickly between them, head down, jaw clamped. Angry and flustered and wounded all at once, mind still spinning from the revelation as the heavy door ground shut behind her. In the long, grand hallway beyond she slowed to a halt, heedless of the eyes of numerous guards scattered about it; of the security lenses recording her every move.

Vader's son...Darth Vader's son. She had sat in a room with him, had spoken so casually to him, had watched him and listened to him. Had played sabacc with him--with Vader's son. And hadn't realized.

Hadn't realized who she was sitting with.

And she was supposed to be the best, trained from childhood to catch every nuance and notice even the smallest detail...yet she hadn't had a clue. But they were so different... or were they at all--the absolute demand in Skywalker's tone had stopped her dead just moments ago.

Why hadn't the Emperor told her? Why hadn't he clarified that one incredible fact, when it brought everything else so clearly into focus? Why had he given her the task of guarding him when he knew how she felt about Vader--how little she liked him, how much she distrusted him.

Why had he given her this chance to know Skywalker before this bombshell dropped on her?

Because he must have realized this moment would come--that she would find out, one way or another. It may be a little earlier than he had intended, but the effect was much the same.

And he did love his little games. It would be so like him to play this little amusement out, for his own entertainment.

She slowly resumed her march down the corridor, to check that her master knew Vader was here. In truth, it made no difference who the prisoner was--he would be lost anyway, one way or another. Because sooner or later, her master's patience would fracture and he would turn on Skywalker with a vengeance--

And he would take him to pieces.

Somewhere along the line, she'd forgotten that; forgotten that Palpatine had an ulterior motive which would not be swayed. And learning Skywalker's identity had only underlined the hard facts. Palpatine would break him or kill him trying. Anyone connected with him, anyone drawn in by him, no matter how reluctantly, would be pulled in and dragged down; collateral damage.

And it shouldn't be her. It wouldn't be her. Perhaps that was the lesson her master wanted to re-teach--because clearly she'd forgotten.

She quickened her pace to a military march, angry at herself for letting her guard slip, even a little. Angry at Skywalker for stealing past her defenses--and thankful to her master for clarifying the weakness inherent in any human emotion--especially this.

.

.

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They stood in silence for long moments when Jade left, Skywalker's eyes on his father now, expression unreadable, sense guarded and veiled, something he was becoming exceptionally good at. Finally Luke turned and walked quietly toward the tall windows, remaining there with his back to his father, saying nothing.

Vader could only stand and watch, knowing that this had already escalated into conflict and having no idea how to diffuse it. No idea why he came here again and again.

Because something brought him back which was stronger than any walls the boy could build. Some need more addictive than any hostile rejection. Even though he had no idea how to express it or even name it, it brought him back here every time.

"Luke..." The boy remained silent. "Who gave you that name?" Vader asked at last, turning the boy's head just slightly.

"I...don't know. I never asked."

Silence stretched out again...

Uncertain how to continue, uncomfortable in the protracted silence, Vader turned to leave. As he did so, he heard his son's voice, very quiet.

"What...was your name?"

"What?" He'd heard the question, but was so unsure in that moment what to make of it that it had stopped him dead.

Remaining before the tall window, staring out into the encroaching dusk, his son spoke again. "Your name?"

Vader was silent for long seconds. "Anakin--Anakin Skywalker." It was a lifetime since he had spoken it out loud, since he had even thought it--his son's lifetime.

It felt deeply uncomfortable to say it, somehow clumsy and unnatural. And something else, some deeper regret...

To have to say it like this, to his son. As an admission that he was no longer the man he had been. The man his son would have been proud of.

Though Luke was half-turned away, Vader saw him mouth his surname, and realized that until this moment, his son hadn't even known whether even this was truly his or just another lie, one of many.

"Were you...serving the Emperor when I was born?"

Again his voice was quiet, betraying none of the emotion which Vader could so clearly read in the Force. The desperate desire to know, tempered by unsettled reluctance...and fear. Fear that this knowledge would pull him in and drag him down, take him where he did not wish to go, all twisted through with strictly-contained devastation, the wound still raw and bleeding.

"Yes." What more could he say.

The wave of remorse which burned through his son took Vader's breath away, though all Luke did in the moment was to nod very slowly, his back still to his father.

"I had..." Luke didn't say it, but then he didn't have to; hoped. He had hoped...for what?

That Anakin had been alive, however briefly, when he was born, Vader realized. Hoped that the man whose memory he had cherished all these years had still been alive. His real father.

The realization came over Vader quite slowly, but still held the strength to twist his stomach--

That Vader was not his father...Anakin Skywalker was.

And Vader had crushed that man--betrayed him, destroyed him. Had willingly sacrificed Anakin to gain the power Darth Vader now wielded without compunction.

"I did what I believed to be right," he said, voice a bass rumble.

His son turned just slightly, though he would not meet Vader's eyes. "And do you still?"

It was an offer of truce, he knew. Not understanding or acceptance--certainly not reconciliation. But an offer to try to find some middle ground from which to begin. Until now--until his son had actually said this--he had been unaware of how desperately he had wanted it. Now, spoken freely, it was like rain in the deep desert.

He wanted so very much to say yes, to offer anything to maintain this. To say everything his son wanted to hear.

Instead, unwilling to lie, he skirted the question. "Why are you so sure that I am wrong?"

His son finally turned, blue eyes dull with dispirited defeat. "How can you even ask."

It was not a question, and he heard in Luke's voice the bitter, heartfelt recognition of the depth of the void between them.

"You will change," Vader said. "Come to a greater comprehension--of your place in the galaxy, your entitlement."

"As you did?" Luke asked bitterly.

"As I did," he acknowledged, unrepentant. "Understanding will come with time."

Luke shook his head. "I already understand you--that's what scares me most of all."

Vader took a half-step forward, angry that his son should feel this way--have been made to feel this way by the Jedi who had stolen him away, seeking only to control him. "You should not be afraid of what you are--you should be proud."

"Of what?" Luke spurned, genuinely dismissive.

Vader scowled, unable to begin to understand this rejection. "Your power--your abilities. Acknowledge what you are. "

"I don't know anymore..." his son whispered, backstepping to maintain the distance between them, desolate, hopelessly confused.

This was a good thing, Vader told himself--that the boy was beginning to question what the Jedi had told him he should be--this was his chance; their chance. Everything Vader wanted could be accomplished. And yet...something in him couldn't help but react to his son's plea.

"You are my son. You will always be that," he said at last, strong and steadfast.

"I'm lost." Luke lifted his eyes to his father in reluctant realization. "And you only wish to drag me further from the light."

"I drive you to true understanding."

"I understand," Luke said again. "I just can't agree."

"Then you do not understand. The Emperor will show you the truth--he will make you comprehend."

Luke lowered his head, for the first time conceding the concept of defeat, if only in part. "He will make me obey, perhaps."

Was it a monumental admission on his son's part, or a momentary slip? Perhaps he didn't know anymore. So much that he had once been sure of, so many of the truths he had built his life around, were turning to smoke and shadows here, under the emperor's carefully-constructed management.

Quite suddenly the boy lifted his head, the momentary glimpse of fragile doubt completely subdued. "But I'll never believe that Palpatine's right--I'll never believe he does anything more noble than advance his own conceited, self-serving ends. Nothing can make me do that--not him, not you. Nothing."

"You only--"

"No. I'll not do this again." His voice firmed. "I'll not cover the same ground over and over whilst you nurse your conscience or validate your reasons for my being here."

Vader was left to an uneasy silence, uncertain what to say against the piercing observation, not wishing to reduce this to another argument. The boy stared for long seconds, trying to hold his anger, though when he turned away his voice was disheartened and dismissive. "You should go--please leave."

Fired with frustration, Vader held his ground--he would not be spurned out of hand. "No. I will not walk away--I will not leave."

Luke didn't turn back. "You already did--twenty-two years ago."

"You were taken from me. I did not leave," Vader insisted forcibly.

"I wasn't talking physically," Luke parried, the wound cutting deep and he knew it, his sense and temperament changing rapidly now.

"I made my choices. I swore I wouldn't regret them."

"Then why are you here?" Luke murmured, another sharp observation cast out so casually, face completely composed.

"Losing you was never my choice."

"But bringing me here was."

One more blow landed with cold, cutting precision. Effortlessly, leaving Vader to contemplate whether the boy was learning too much at Palpatine's hand. "I have told you--I do not regret my choices."

.

Luke turned abruptly to search the inhuman mask which hid his father's eyes...but saw only his own reflection, dark and distorted. "I regret them," he whispered at last, wistful and heartfelt in that moment, knowing that he was utterly confusing Vader with these mercurial changes yet unable to stop himself, too tired and drawn to care.

"I had hoped..." He laughed briefly, no hint of amusement in it, leaving his expression unguarded, laced with defeated regret, aware of having shifted in a heartbeat from curt and dismissive to unconditionally open, all barriers dropped. "...foolish things--naïve, blind, reckless things. And every time you come back, some tiny part of me hopes all over again. Stupidly--because everything I've ever hoped, I've lost."

He looked away, unable to believe he had made this admission to his father--but he was exhausted, weary of playing the same games, each circling the other, intent always hidden. Something spurred him on to truth in this moment, aware that this had to be the final opportunity offered.

"Every time you come back, you remind me of that." He shook his head, haunted and defeated, resigned at last. "And I can't do it anymore."

He searched for some reaction from his father, some acknowledgement--anything at all. Something to let Luke see that he was viewed by his father as anything more than simply an opportunity to be used, as he had been to so many others.

"Do you really give a damn about me?" he asked at last, doubt reducing his words to an uncertain whisper.

"You are my son," Vader said, unsure what else to say.

Luke laughed again, that mirthless laugh, at his father's inability to say anything more. He looked to that death's-head mask, tried to see past it, to see the man within...perhaps he saw nothing because there was nothing left to see?

"Then don't come back," he said, the simple, sincere tone giving his request a solemn gravity.

.

Vader foundered at his son's words, aware that some far-reaching decision had been made, the weight of them dragging all hope from him in that moment, though he made no move to betray his unease, too proud to show weakness even now. His son held his eyes for long seconds before turning away and, unable to conceive of anything more to say which could bridge that gap, Vader turned in silence and stalked from the room.

.

Luke stood unmoving, back tense, shoulders taut, watching his father's reflection in the plexiglass of the window; watching him stare in silence for long, drawn moments before finally turning away.

His stance relaxed only as Vader left, his shoulders slumping, though he didn't turn, knowing from long experience where the surveillance lenses were hidden in this room, and unwilling to share this intensely private moment.

He stood like this a long time, gazing out into darkness.

.

.

Vader strode away, a turmoil of suppressed emotions, fired by the numb declaration of irreconcilable beliefs in his son's voice.

Even knowing the boy as little as he did, he was finally realizing how much Luke must have cherished the memory he held of his perceived father, the virtuous Jedi who fought for the same justice and freedoms that Luke now held so dear. How he must have admired him, respected him, loved him.

How he must now hate him. Loathe him, despise him.

Only now could Vader comprehend how much the words he had spoken on CloudCity must have devastated his son. That he had obliterated every conviction, every belief in that single moment; had ripped his son's foundations away and left an open, bleeding wound that could never heal.

How had he assumed that he could now counter that merciless, damning, life-destroying act with simple words? That he could win back the son whose soul he had shattered, whose hope he had so completely crushed.

But he would not take this blame alone; Obi-Wan had caused this. It was not enough that he had deceived and mislead his wife, hypnotized and beguiled her, stolen her from him with his unrealistic ideals and his pious, self-righteous accusations. Not enough that he had brought her to Mustafar to underline Anakin's loss--that he had then turned on Anakin himself, to destroy him. Had left him to burn in the fires of their broken comradeship. No, he had also exacted one final, merciless revenge...he had stolen Anakin's son, not just physically but mentally. Had hidden him away and filled his head with lies, just as he had Padmé's. Had deliberately made it impossible for Vader to reach him, even now.

His final, vindictive retribution on Anakin for defying the Jedi.

It had been a long time coming, but how he must have savored the wait, knowing that it would burn through Vader with all the caustic fury of the flames on Mustafar. That it would continue to smolder every time he saw his son, because there was nothing he could do to change it.

The fury blistered through Vader now, searing away any guilt or remorse, any acceptance of his own part in this. It was Obi-Wan; all Obi-Wan. He had never forgiven Anakin for coming between himself and Qui-Gon. Had never accepted that Anakin was more powerful than he. Had always held him back, constrained him, sought control, just as Palpatine had said. And when Anakin had broken free, he had taken from him everything of meaning in his life.

And now this, his ultimate reprisal. His last, vindictive stab straight at Vader's heart. One final, ruthless blow landed with cold, cruel precision.

How desperately he hated him in that moment...

Vader paused, his raven cloak whipping in a flurry about him as he froze stock-still in the richly opulent hallway, a dark figure shrouded in shadows...

In that moment...how he hated himself.

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To be continued...

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